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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002979">His eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsaacOfTheArts/pseuds/IsaacOfTheArts'>IsaacOfTheArts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frankenstein - Mary Shelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:06:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>764</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsaacOfTheArts/pseuds/IsaacOfTheArts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Creased by the light and by the ever present mirth he seemed to exude, Henry’s eyes appeared to me, in that instant, to be the most earth-shatteringly beautiful sight that nature had ever had to offer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Clerval/Victor Frankenstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>His eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just some angst I wrote at 2 AM, enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The glittering flecks of Sun, trapped in those crystalline droplets of water, crested on a myriad of peaceful little waves; They reflected and shone in his eyes like a thousand shards of polished glass on the beach of one’s childhood.</p>
<p>   Creased by the light and by the ever present mirth he seemed to exude, Henry’s eyes appeared to me, in that instant, to be the most earth-shatteringly beautiful sight that nature had ever had to offer.</p>
<p>   That boy who I had, by some utterly inexplicable blessing of fate, been allowed the honour to call my friend, stared out towards the horizon, above the large expanse of Lake Geneva. Words spoken in his warm and comforting tones fell from his lips as he recounted some embarrassing story from our youth, memories made around this very lake.</p>
<p>   I heard nothing, so captivated was I by the breath-taking beauty of his being.</p>
<p>   Every passing minute, the Sun’s light stained the world a little more with it’s bright shades of orange and red. The clouds were set alight by it’s fiery passions. </p>
<p>   Henry’s colours, warm and bright. </p>
<p>   I still recall Henry’s voice as it filled the halls of the Frankenstein house with his melodic and painfully good-natured laugh.</p>
<p>   “Come now, Victor! You’ve been trapped in this dreadfully stifling room for far too long! Come and visit the great outdoors with me, there’s a whole world out there that you are missing with your head stuck in these old medical textbooks,” he distastefully glanced at the pile of such texts on my desk, then out of the partially curtained window to marvel at the early evening sun. He turned away then to look back at where I was sitting. I was failing to conjure up enough genuine frustration to properly frown back at him as he disparaged my choice of reading material. It was hard to be legitimately angry at Henry when his interruptions were one of the shining moments of the day, and playful chiding so obviously light-hearted. “You know what, you can take one with you!, if you agree to accompany me to the lake this evening to witness the beautiful sunset. I feel something special about tonight’s sunset.” He grinned down at me and any chance that I might have said no flew off on the breeze. </p>
<p>   There is nothing that Henry could ask of me with such honest delight that I could possibly refuse.</p>
<p>   So there we lay, alone together at the lake-side, under the branches of an old sycamore. Henry’s hand lay on the cover of a thick book, a novel, one of his favorites. He’d brought it along to read to me when I informed him I would not be taking any of my scientific journals with me. Only to see him smile that brilliant smile of his, the one that could light up a room brighter than any fireplace could ever hope to. <br/>Love and romance, wild adventures on distant shores, I hardly remembered the contents, but Henry’s enthusiastic retelling as he shared this favorite tale of his with me was burned into my mind as if branded by the stars themselves.</p>
<p>   Silence fell then, broken only by the sounds of the birds in the trees, the winds rustling in the leaves and the gentle lapping of the water on the shore’s stones, as Henry stopped his nostalgic musings. He turned his golden head to look at me with those perfect blue eyes of his. He chuckled, shaking his head at some thought of his and then gestured mock exasperatedly at the setting Sun ahead of us. <br/>   “Victor! You’re supposed to be witnessing the beauty of nature!” </p>
<p>   “I am, Henry.”</p>
<p>   He turned to look at me again, head tilted to the side slightly as he took in my painfully inadequate form, as it was next to his near radiance. Then, his head fell back and he laughed. It filled our little corner of the lake-side and rippled over the glimmering red waters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   I could still hear a faint laugh playing in my ears, a far distant memory, as I awoke, my heart twisted so painfully in my chest I feared it might be my end.</p>
<p>   The world’s gentle rocking reminded me, along with the cold of the room’s air, that I was no longer at home in Geneva, Henry laying by my side. But on an ambitious captain’s vessel, set to sail north.</p>
<p>   And Henry…</p>
<p>   A hand shot up to clutch at my shirt as my heart constricted violently and a painful gasp was forced from my trembling lips.</p>
<p>   Henry was dead.</p>
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